He wasn’t going down the mountain today—besides, he’d much rather stay in the mountain valley, away from the hectic life in the city below. Picking a wrench off the floor, he tried to loosen a bolt under the truck. He saved a lot of money working on his vehicles in his garage. Fighting the bolt some more, he cussed under his breath. No, he wasn’t going down the mountain today, even if it was for his own brother’s funeral. They hadn’t ever been close anyway—it was as though his brother lived in another world. He gave the bolt a yank, knowing he had been the one who had taken their mother’s money in her final days, not his brother. He yanked again, causing the truck to sway. Falling off the jack, the rear axle fell on his foot, which instantly started throbbing. Surely it should be numb longer than this, he thought. He had taken his mother’s money and it was all gone, just as his brother was gone. It probably wasn’t a good idea to be alone, he realized, but there was no way he could go down the mountain today, even if he wanted to.

Bleak! I like that he doesn’t have a name. You might think that when he says that he wouldn’t go down the mountain even if it was his own brother’s funeral, that he is exaggerating – as we all tend to do (I’d rather cut off my right arm than… ) But reading on, we know that he is not one to exaggerate. He and others like him are out there, but I wouldn’t want to meet them. I’m chilled to the core. Great job at getting the reader into his head. Doris